Page 5

Chapter five

T he next evening, Hugh dressed in casual clothing rather than his police uniform. He told Reardon he was going to go look for more information about Christopher O’Malley’s customers, and he received nothing more than a handwave in acknowledgement. So, with determined steps, he headed out onto the street.

It was still light out, not quite dusk. Hugh found himself glancing up at rooftops as he walked. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see. Did he really think Spring-Heeled Jack was there, watching him, following him? What reason did Jack have to follow him anyway? He didn’t really like the answer. Two attractive, young men, engaged in sexual trysts with another man, both of them around Hugh’s age, had been brutally murdered in the unforgiving darkness. Was Jack targeting him? The man not only could leap impossible heights with ease, but he was bigger and stronger than Hugh by a not insubstantial amount. Hugh’s mind wandered back to his dream the other night, with Jack pressing him up against the wall, his hand moving between his legs, those scorching, fire-red eyes…

Stop it! he scolded himself as his prick gave a hopeful jump in his trousers that he hoped hid his growing need. Now was not the time. There would never be an appropriate time to think about the dark-haired apparition that way. He glared at one of the empty rooftops, as if Jack were perched upon it, watching him like a gargoyle on a parapet of Notre Dame. He had a job to do; he couldn’t let himself be distracted by spectres that he couldn’t even see.

Hugh found his way to The Bull and Parasol, which was a grimy-looking establishment on Lime Row. The front parlor had a bar where several young men served drinks. Another boy sat playing the piano in the corner and singing a bawdy song that he looked almost too young to understand. Hugh felt his breath catch. The boys ranged from barely teens to around his age, with various skin tones and looks to them, but most of them were dressed in some variation of women’s clothing, with corsets, stockings, bloomers, and headpieces. He moved to the bar, hoping that he did not seem too nervous. He had purposely worn his most scuffed up shoes with his plainest clothes so his usual spit-and-polish appearance would not give him away as a police officer, but he still felt like every eye in the room could see that he did not belong there.

The boy at the bar was probably sixteen, with soft, cherubic cheeks. “Evening, mister,” he greeted. “What can I get ya?”

“I’m… not sure. I’ve never been here before,” Hugh said, giving him a slight smile. “But I heard about this place from… one of the boys who works here.”

“Oh, if you’re new, you’ll want to talk to Mr. Galloway,” the bartender said, nodding his head at a corner of the room. “He’ll get you all settled, sir.”

“Thank you.” Hugh gave the boy another smile before making his way across the room. He tried not to pay too much attention to the boys but did try to note the faces of the men who appeared to be customers. Could one of them have killed Christopher? Most of them seemed to be middle-class like himself.

Mr. Galloway was a large man with an even larger mustache that looked determined to fly off of his face with every breath. He seemed like a jovial man, talking with customers, laughing, slapping backs, but there was a shrewdness in his blue eyes that told Hugh the man was not as congenial as he played. Mr. Galloway was standing in the corner of the room, talking to a handsome, young man with very dark hair and dark eyes, obviously more well-to-do than most of the other customers in the room. The young man’s clothes, while simple, were finely cut and tailored. A gentleman of some kind, Hugh figured.

He felt both men’s eyes on him as he approached, and he forced himself to hunch his shoulders just a little. His ramrod-straight back could give him away as an officer as easily as shined shoes might. “Mr. Galloway?” he asked when both of the men remained silent as he came to a halt. “I apologize for the interruption.”

“Oh, no, I was just leaving,” the gentleman said, putting a gray top hat on his head and giving Mr. Galloway a nod. “Good evening.”

“Good evening, Your Grace,” Mr. Galloway said, giving the man a slight bow, though it was not obvious with his waist being so large. The man with the top hat gave Hugh a small smile, his dark eyes drifting from Hugh’s face, down his body, and back up again, before he strode across the room to leave. Hugh felt like he needed a hot bath and a bar of lye soap.

“Hello, good sir,” Mr. Galloway said, drawing his attention back. He gave Hugh’s hand a shake, covering it with his other hand as he did. “What brings you into my fine establishment?”

“I heard that you serve a variety of tastes,” Hugh said, trying to sound confident, though he was sure he would not be the first young man to sound uncertain about how to ask for what he was looking for here.

“We do indeed, sir,” Mr. Galloway said, his dark eyes studying him carefully, and Hugh felt a bit like a rabbit trapped under the gaze of a hound. “Are you looking for a companion to spend a pleasant evening with?”

“I… Yes,” Hugh said. He wasn’t sure how to ask to talk with the boys to find out if they knew more about Christopher without completely giving himself away. But if he could find Anthony, that would probably be a good starting point.

Mr. Galloway held out one large hand to him. “Angus Galloway.”

Hugh took the hand and shook it lightly. “Hugh.”

Mr. Galloway’s eyes raked over him. “What do you do for a living, Mr. Hugh?”

Hugh swallowed hard, giving a wavery smile. “I’m a bookkeeper, sir, for a pub down on Henry Street,” he said, glad he had decided on that backstory beforehand.

“Are you now?” Mr. Galloway’s hand came up and suddenly grasped Hugh’s chin with his large fingers, tipping his head this way and that to examine it. “You have a fine face, young man. Would you care to change your occupation? I could offer you twice what you make as a bookkeeper.”

“Doing what, sir?” Hugh asked, suddenly not liking where this was going.

Mr. Galloway laughed, a sound that was meant to be light-hearted but sounded to Hugh like the toll of a bell signaling a terrible tragedy. “Why, exactly what you came here to do, I’d wager. My boys are the finest and prettiest in all of London. You would fit right into their ranks.”

Hugh’s stomach curdled. This man who had only just met him was seriously trying to convince him to become one of his whores? “I’m afraid I don’t work well on my knees, sir,” he said, trying to keep his tone light and playful, but he wasn’t sure he succeeded.

“Well, anyone can learn,” Mr. Galloway said. “What do you say, my boy? Perhaps a test run for a night or two? See how much you can make just by lying on your back?”

“Very kind of you, sir,” Hugh said, having to take a deep breath to calm his stomach. “I’ll consider it. But for tonight, I’d rather be a patron.”

Mr. Galloway nodded, his white mustache bobbing. “Very good, very good. My boys are the best in the business, after all. I’m sure if you have questions, they can answer them for you.”

“Do they all work here? Or do you have other locations?” Hugh asked.

“This is our main establishment, but we do private special events for certain individuals.” Mr. Galloway tugged lightly on one end of his mustache. “I do sometimes have lads who come in only for those special events, if you’re looking to be a little more discreet. Pays extremely well.”

“What sort of special events?” Hugh asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

“I’m afraid I can’t say much more than that,” Mr. Galloway said, his eyes twinkling in a way that was meant to be cheery, but Hugh knew the man was watching him like a snake watches an approaching mouse. “But talk to me again if you might be interested. We have one coming up soon.”

Hugh wondered if Anthony knew anything about these ‘special events.’ “I will keep it in mind,” he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “I… think I would like to see one of your boys for myself. I mean, that is why I came here, after all.”

“Oh yes, of course,” Mr. Galloway said. He pointed across the room to a boy who was wearing a corset and bloomers, with a peacock feather tucked in his curly, fair hair. He couldn’t have been older than fifteen. “Rose there would take good care of you.”

“I… like them to be a little closer to my age,” Hugh said, giving Mr. Galloway what he hoped was a sheepish smile. “You know how it is, the ol’ boarding school fantasy.”

“Ah, yes, I see,” Mr. Galloway said.

“Maybe… dark hair?” Hugh asked, trying to sound like he was thinking of someone else. “Very Irish-looking, perhaps?”

Mr. Galloway chuckled. “Ah, schoolboy crush, eh, son?”

Hugh laughed and held up his hands. “Yes. Unrequited, unfortunately.”

“Mm, I have just the one,” Mr. Galloway said. He snapped his fingers at the boy named Rose. “Go get Rachel.” The boy nodded and scurried off through the crowd and up the stairs.

“Do all of your boys have female names?” Hugh asked, trying to play it off as curiosity. He had no idea what Anthony’s name might otherwise be.

Mr. Galloway chuckled that dark sound again. “Yes. Helps build the fantasy for some men. Of course, if you prefer something more masculine, we can accommodate that as well.”

Hugh had a vague wonder of what his name would be if he were to take Mr. Galloway up on his offer. Not that he would, of course. Just being near the man was making his skin crawl.

Rose came back through the crowd, and behind him was Anthony. The young man was dressed in a velvet dress with black ruffles that looked like they were in need of a good wash, and it took Hugh a moment to recognize him through the freshly-applied kohl that lined his eyes, accentuating his pale irises and long, dark lashes.

Mr. Galloway turned to Hugh with a cheery grin. “What do you think?”

Anthony gazed back at Hugh, his expression unchanging from the slightly sultry pout he had. If he recognized Hugh, he was doing a good job at hiding it.

“He’s perfect,” Hugh said, giving the man a smile. “I… I’m afraid I’ve never been to a place like this before, sir. What do I do?”

“You can just give the money to me, and then you have him for an hour. You can purchase more time for a bit of a discount if you’d like too.”

“I think an hour should be sufficient,” Hugh said, pulling out several coins from his pocket. Oh, wouldn’t the police department love to find out what he was spending this petty cash on.

Mr. Galloway took the coins and pocketed them. “Take the gentleman upstairs, Rachel.”

“Yes, sir,” Anthony said, giving the large man a nod before turning to Hugh with a polite smile. “Right this way.” He offered Hugh his elbow. Hugh didn’t want to make Anthony uncomfortable, or himself either, but with multiple pairs of eyes watching him, he felt like he didn’t have much choice. So, he took the arm and allowed Anthony to lead him through the crowd and up a set of creaky, wooden stairs.

Anthony led him down a hallway to a room. He pushed open the door to reveal a sparsely furnished room that had not much more to it than a bed, a vanity, and a wardrobe. A few watercolor painting postcards of flowers hung on the wall, the only real sign that anyone had tried to make it their own. Hugh stepped inside as Anthony closed the door. Once it was shut, Anthony let out a breath. “Hello again.”

Hugh gave him a weak smile. “I hope that I haven’t potentially gotten you in trouble.”

Anthony frowned. “Does anyone know you’re police?”

“I don’t think so,” Hugh said. “I’m here undercover.”

Anthony glanced over him. “Yeah, you look ordinary enough without that copper getup.”

“Thank you,” Hugh replied, glancing around the room. “Is this yours?”

Anthony nodded. “Yes, sir.”

There was almost nothing here. How could Anthony live like this? “Well, I’m afraid it may not be much of a respite, but I have bought your time for an hour, so please… Make yourself comfortable, I suppose?”

Anthony sat down on the bed, undoing the laces of the corset of his dress before bending down to undo the little black boots he wore as well. There was one chair at the vanity, with a dressing gown draped over it. Hugh held out the dressing gown to Anthony before he perched awkwardly on the edge of the chair, averting his eyes as the boy slid it on to cover his mostly-bare frame. “I did have some more questions that perhaps you could answer now that we’re not in as public of a place.”

Anthony nodded, sitting down cross-legged on the bed. “All right.”

“Is there a particular customer that you think might have wanted to hurt Christopher?"

Anthony hummed thoughtfully. “Not that I can think of. Some fellas think they’s tough, but they have to pay extra, and not all of the boys are willing to service them.”

“Do you think that Christopher could have met one of these tough customers the night he died?”

Anthony shook his head. “I mean, I suppose it’s possible, but most guys that like to get rough aren’t as violent as all that. They might like to choke you or use a riding crop on you. They get off on hurting others. But hurtin’, not killin’.”

“Mr. Galloway mentioned ‘special events’ that he sometimes brings in extra lads for?”

“Oh, yes,” Anthony said with a slight frown. “I went to the last one.”

“What sort of event was it?”

“I couldn’t say for sure, sir. We actually were blindfolded in the wagon that brought us there.”

Hugh imagined that would be terrifying. “What happened then?”

“We were taken inside and down a ramp of some sort. Something inclined, anyway, each step down my stomach dropped more.”

“You still couldn’t see?”

“No, sir. It was only after we were inside at the bottom of the ramp that they took the blindfolds off. Said it was because there were very important guests about, and they didn’t want us accidentally seeing their faces or where we were.”

“What did you see around you after the blindfolds were off?”

“Stone,” Anthony said. “Lots of stone with archways and such. It looked like we were underground, cause there were no windows anywhere, and we had gone down. There were gas lamps on the wall, and some torches and candles too.”

“Who else was there with you?” Hugh asked.

“It was me and five other boys from Mr. Galloway’s, and there were some ladies too. Probably ten or so? Different ages, I hadn’t seen any of them before.”

“Then what?”

“We were all given outfits to change into. Real skimpy things, just fabric draping over the bits, you know? And then, the man who seemed to be in charge, he had us drink something,” Anthony said with a frown. “It tasted like champagne. But soon after I drank it, everything became really fuzzy. I don’t remember much about that night, just flashes.”

“What sort of flashes do you remember?” Hugh asked.

Anthony frowned thoughtfully, rubbing at a little scar on his chin with his thumb. “Lots of bodies moving. Everything was warm and bright. There were people in masks.”

“What kind of masks?” Hugh asked.

“Um… Like the kinds actors wear. With the big noses and colors and feathers.”

“Comedia masks?” Hugh asked, and Anthony shrugged. Hugh gestured for him to go on. “Were you wearing a mask?”

“No, sir. None of us that came in the wagon were. A few people were in plain black masks. Like the ones that handed us out the drinks. I figured they were maybe employees? But then we were taken into other rooms, and the people with the fancy masks were there.”

Hugh tried to picture what Anthony was talking about. “Did you recognize anyone with the masks?”

“No, sir. To be honest, everything was so fuzzy, I’m surprised I even remember that much.”

“I appreciate that you do. What else can you tell me about it? The people, the location, anything that might help? Did you hear anything?”

“A lot of it was pretty distorted,” Anthony said. “But… I remember the smell.”

“The smell?” Hugh asked curiously.

“Yeah. There was the usual smells like you got in the brothels. You know, sweat and sex and lamps and oils. But there was something else.” Anthony screwed up his face, his icy eyes narrowing and then closing fully. He stuck his thumb in his mouth, chewing on the nail there for a moment. “Apples.”

“Apples?” Hugh asked in surprise.

Anthony nodded. “Yeah. I thought that was strange, that I could smell fresh apples when we were someplace with no windows. But I would get whiffs of apple from some of the people. Not the workers, I don’t think, just the people in the fancy masks.”

“Was it some sort of perfume?” Hugh asked. Apple blossoms were sometimes used by perfumers; perhaps there was a new popular scent making the rounds amongst the gentry?

Anthony shook his head. “I thought that too. But it didn’t smell like any perfume I ever smelled before. It was so distinct and clean. When I smelled it, it was the only thing I could smell right then.”

“Did you see any apples there?”

“Not that I remember,” Anthony said.

“What else happened?”

“I don’t honestly know,” Anthony said. “Sex, obviously. But I don’t know how long or what or anything. I must have fallen asleep, because when I woke up, I was here, in my room. I was naked, but my clothes were on the foot of the bed.”

“Do you know what time it was?”

“Maybe early afternoon? A lot of time had passed, at least.” Anthony chewed on his thumb nail again. “I don’t remember what happened to me, but I probably don’t want to. Cause I was pretty banged up.”

“What do you mean?” Hugh asked.

Anthony gave a vague wave in the vicinity of his abdomen. “Pretty achy. I know a few of the boys were unable to do ass work for a few days.”

“Do you remember anything else about that night?” Hugh asked, trying not to think too hard about what might have happened that would cause that kind of pain for the young men.

“No, sir,” Anthony said. “Except… Victoria disappeared that night.”

“Victoria?”

“Oh, um… His real name was Alexander. He was one of the boys that worked with us. It seems like he didn’t come back with us, because no one saw him. Mr. Galloway said that one of the people at the party took him.”

“Took him?”

“Yes, sir. Sometimes a client really likes one of us, and he’ll pay to keep us for himself.”

A private whore, probably not with the boys’ permission, and definitely without any rights. Hugh felt his stomach surge at that. Anthony actually sounded slightly excited by the prospect. Perhaps that was what they hoped would happen; someone would take them away from their life of anonymous sex with strangers to live specifically with one man and satisfy his personal desires. He wasn’t sure if that was any better, considering that anyone rich enough to afford their own personal prostitute wouldn’t necessarily take good care of them. But what did he really know about it? Perhaps there were some good men out there who treated their boys with respect and kindness.

“Did you ever hear from Alexander again?”

“No, sir. But we usually don’t once they go live with some fancy toff.”

“Did anyone else go missing that night?”

“Not from here,” Anthony said, thoughtfully. “But I ain’t sure about the ladies either.”

“How often do these kinds of events happen?”

“There’s other sorts of parties all the time,” Anthony said thoughtfully. “At fancy houses, or pubs, or them fancy clubs that the rich folks go to. Have one of those every week or two. But the one like this, I think it only happens once a month? I’ve gone to the last two? Three? Something like that.”

“Do you know how long they’ve been going on?”

Anthony shook his head. “Mr. Galloway keeps pretty shut up about them. Concerns about privacy, I guess.”

“But the one where Alexander disappeared was the most recent?”

Anthony nodded. “Yeah. And that was the one where things got all fuzzy.”

“That’s not a common occurrence?” Hugh asked, wondering how often Mr. Galloway drugged his boys.

Anthony shook his head. “No, sir. Just when we go to this particular place. Usually, we can find out some information about it, but this particular event was really hush-hush.”

“And how long ago was this?”

“Hmm. Two-ish weeks ago?” Anthony said thoughtfully.

Hugh nodded. “Thank you for answering my questions, Anthony. I really hope I can figure out what is happening to keep you and your friends safe.”

“Will you look for Alexander?” Anthony asked hopefully. “I know Mr. Galloway said that he got taken away, but it just don’t feel right.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Hugh said. He suspected that finding a single prostitute in London, especially one that might be under private engagement, would be difficult, but he had to at least try. His mind flitted back to the boy in the morgue. “Does Alexander have red hair?”

Anthony shook his head. “No, he’s got dark brown.”

“Do you know of any other young male prostitutes with red hair that might be missing right now?”

Anthony’s face screwed up thoughtfully. “Not that I know of,” he said finally. “There’s a couple here, but I seen them all tonight.”

“He would have disappeared two nights ago,” Hugh said.

Anthony shook his head. “Nobody from here then, but I’ll ask around for ya.”

“Thank you. Would Mr. Galloway have any reason to want Alexander gone? Or Christopher?”

Anthony shook his head. “No. We make money when we’re alive, I can’t think that he’d let somethin’ happen to us. Unless it was a helluva lot of money.”

Every soul had its price, Hugh supposed. “Has that happened before? Someone got too violent with one of you?”

“Not usually here,” Anthony said. “One scream, and we got lots of people that will come running. But sometimes at special events, if they’re looking for something in particular and had enough money, I suppose anything is possible.”

He rose to his feet. “Thank you for answering my questions. I will do my best to find out who killed Christopher and bring him to justice.” He had no idea how much he could actually do. He was a patrolman, not an investigator. But he found himself caring about this group of boys he had never met. Boys who had been rejected by their families or run away from home because of who they loved. Forced to sell their bodies to strangers to keep a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs. At least here was safer than out on the streets.

Anthony slid off the bed. “Much appreciated, sir.” His icy eyes narrowed, and he smiled sweetly, closer to the flirty smile he had had downstairs. “You did pay for a full hour. Anything I can do for you while you’re here?”

He hated to admit that he was tempted. Anthony was beautiful, and it had been months since he had had his last encounter in a furtive tumble in the back room of one of the pubs. But he was still a police officer, and he was technically on the clock, investigating two mysterious deaths. He was not going to break that trust with Anthony by not being better than any other corrupt police officer. “Thank you, but no,” he said gently. “I appreciate the offer though.”

Anthony smiled, a genuine smile now, and gave Hugh a gracious nod before opening the bedroom door for him. “Thank you for coming.”

Hugh nodded in return, not wanting to say anything more with the door open and people passing by in the hallways, so he just put on his cap and headed down the stairs. Mr. Galloway waved him over, and Hugh reluctantly moved to the big man’s side.

“How was Rachel?” he asked.

“Oh, um, wonderful,” Hugh said, giving him a polite smile. How was one supposed to talk about something so intimate with a complete stranger? “Thank you.”

“Will you be visiting our establishment again?” Mr. Galloway asked.

Hugh nodded politely. “I very likely will. Thank you, sir.”

Mr. Galloway tipped his head. “Good night.”

“Good night.” Hugh gave the man a last nod, then turned and headed out the door and up again onto the street, taking a deep breath of outside air. The brothel had been so full of perfume and musk and bodies that stepping out into the cool night air of London was actually a relief to his senses. He turned toward Bowery Lane where Christopher had been found. He could try to trace Christopher’s path, at least, and see if anything occurred to him.

There were people about on the streets, though not as many as during the day, and Hugh at first didn’t notice the shadow that darted overhead, keeping pace with him. He was on his usual high alert that he maintained while doing his patrolling, though he forced himself to walk a little more casual, so he looked less like a police officer. The gas streetlamps flickered and cast strange shadows over the cobbles and the mouth of darkening alleyways. He had to admit that London was more than a little sinister in the darkness. It was no wonder that people envisioned ghosts and spooks, along with the usual cutthroats and other vagabonds.

He paused at a corner as a gentleman’s horse-drawn carriage rolled past, the clip-clop of hooves unnaturally loud in the night’s stillness. The few people he could see were all heading about their business, shoulders hunched and heads swiveling to watch for trouble the same way he was. He let his eyes wander over the buildings, searching the windows and rooftops that he could see, but there was nothing that caught his eye. Was Christopher O’Malley a ghost now? Wandering the streets of London, lost, crying for justice for what was done to him, for the life that was so abruptly and viciously snuffed out? Was he perhaps following after Hugh, encouraging him to find the monster who did this? Was he angry that nothing had been done thus far? He had no idea if spirits were tied to a particular place or if they could go anywhere they chose. Perhaps he was just being paranoid, walking in the footsteps of the murdered young man. Or maybe… He pictured the tall man with the ghostly mask and horns. Jack had said he would be watching him. Was he following him right now, his blazing inferno eyes on him at this very moment?

Was Spring-Heeled Jack keeping an eye on him, to see what he would learn? But that also didn’t make sense. Spring-Heeled Jack, with his uncanny ability to leap around and disappear over rooftops, could easily evade police, even if they determined that Jack was the killer. Why would he care if Hugh found evidence that linked him to the crime?

Something glinted at the corner of his vision, and Hugh turned, lifting his head to the rooftop of the nearby tenement building. Was it only his imagination, or was there something there? The gas lamps made it difficult to make out anything their light did not touch. He thought he saw a shadow on the rooftop, crouched there like an animal-shaped stone spout, but when his eyes were finally able to focus on the darkness, the dark shape was gone.

Something hit the ground by his feet with a soft slapping noise. Hugh glanced down in surprise. Something white lay on the ground by his shoe. He bent down to pick it up. It was a single white rose. The stem was not very long, and the petals were still curled up into their protective teardrop shape, not quite bloomed into the graceful curls of a mature rose. He glanced up at the roof above him. Had someone tossed a rose out the window? But there was no one looking out, no vases in any open windows that might have dislodged a bloom. He lifted the flower to his nose, inhaling the distinct scent of roses. Fresh flowers were not common this time of year, with the weather getting so cold. It would have come from one of the hothouses where flowers were carefully cultivated to grow year-round in very controlled situations.

He stared at the roof where the bloom must have come from. He felt like he was being watched now, but it was not the feeling he got when there was a thief or other troublemaker watching him. Whatever he was sensing didn’t feel like it was intent on hurting him. He had no idea why he thought that. He had been alone on his patrol a number of times since he had first felt the strange presence; if Jack, or someone else, had wanted to hurt him or kill him, they easily could have by now.

He continued his walk, and the presence followed him. But whenever he looked up, he saw nothing. He approached the street where Christopher had been found by the butcher. The blood was gone now, having been washed away by time and weather. If he had not seen the young man dead on the ground, the brick wall and stone pavement would not have looked any different from any other patch of ground. There seemed to be nothing special about this place. It was just an ordinary street with an extraordinary murder.

Hugh had never been much of the praying type, but he sent up a silent prayer now to anyone who might be listening that Christopher was at peace. He glanced down at the white rose in his hand. White was so uncommon to see in London, where everything the city touched turned sooty and grimy. Its streets, its people, its buildings, all were covered with a fine layer of filth that would never entirely wash away. But he would do what he could to make the streets as safe as he could for the men and women who were forced to make their homes there. He knelt down on one knee and set the rose against the wall where Christopher had been slumped. “I’m sorry. I’ll find who did this to you and bring them to justice.” The only reply was a soft brush of wind and the distant clomp of horse hooves on the cobblestones.